


Old Acquaintance

by Experimental



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-28
Updated: 2002-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 10:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experimental/pseuds/Experimental
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Eve Wars, Une runs into an old acquaintance at a coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Acquaintance

She saw him as she was waiting for her coffee. He was sitting by himself at a little booth by the window, black coffee in a ceramic cup in front of him and nothing else. His arms were folded on the table as he looked out the window at the dry, lightly-falling snow. She almost didn't recognize him, and she didn't know why exactly but that thought upset her: it made her feel guilty. His hair was a little shorter but no less curly, and he was dressed as a civilian—she had never seen him in plainclothes. He was wearing a thick sweater that was brown and dark green, almost the same green as his old uniform. A coat and scarf were draped over the back of the seat. From that look he almost reminded her of the roguish hero of some 170s cop drama, who talks tough and breaks the rules but has his own brand of good intentions. It saddened her a little to think that she could have easily walked out of the café with her coffee and newspaper, gone to work the same as every day, without ever having noticed him. She tried to bring up memories of him, or of them together, just little snapshots of their old animosity even, and found it difficult. The memory of much of what happened on Barge was hazy or meaningless at best. However, she clearly remembered him coming to see her after the war had officially ended, and the relief in his dark eyes at her safety. That was the last time they had spoken, amid aides and ranking officers and press, and they had hardly been able exchange a word. It was over a year ago, yet it seemed so much longer.

The barista called her order and set the two paper cups on the bar. Tucking the newspaper under her arm, Une took them. She had said she would only be a couple minutes, and she was tempted to run out to the car waiting on the curb for just a moment to tell her ride to wait, but she turned to the man by the window instead. It was an irrational thought, she knew, but she felt that if she blinked, even, he might disappear and not appear again for another year, or five, or ten.

He didn't notice her approach his table.

"Hey, stranger," she said, "is this seat taken?"

Startled, he looked up, and his eyes grew wide as he recognized her. She smiled. It was Nichol most definitely. The haircut and the shocked expression on his face made him look his young age, but he was the same Nichol. "No—" he said breathlessly, then cleared his throat. "No. Please . . ." He gestured to the seat across from him, at a loss for words. She found it cute.

Setting down the coffees and the paper, she slid into the booth. "So how's it going?" she asked him, suddenly more eager than she had thought to hear about his life over the past year.

"Okay," he said. "As well as it can be, I suppose, tying up the loose ends from the war. You know. Lots of paperwork—really boring. But how have you been?" he asked, leaning forward. His sincere eagerness to hear about her life was flattering, though she really didn't think it was more worthy of conversation like he seemed to. The intent look she remembered had returned to his eyes. She was somewhat surprised by how quickly they had fallen into that comfortable way of conversation, as though they were old friends.

She rolled her eyes and nodded. "The same. Really stressed, but well. The last couple weeks have been—intense, to say the least."

"I know," he said. "I saw it on the news. I tried to get here as soon as I could, but the spaceports have been packed. Everyone wants to get back to their loved ones. Add to that the holiday season . . ."

"I was going to ask you what brings you here," Une said, a little unsure what to feel at the thought that Nichol might consider her a loved one. For some reason she found that thought thrilling if somewhat weird, though it shouldn't have come as a surprise after the dedication he had shown her during the war. And that he might have stood in long lines just to come see her was touching.

He seemed oblivious to her line of thought, however. "I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help. I know I missed the main action, but anything to make the Preventers' jobs a little easier. Just let me know. I could take some work off your hands. It would be just like old times—maybe that's not something to aspire to in our case, but you know what I mean. I was going to go try to see you after this, but, well, here you are. Saves me the trouble of trying to convince security I know the director." She smiled and he sipped his coffee. "Mostly I just wanted to make sure you were doing all right.

"So, are you all right?" he asked with gravity.

Coming from him, who had risked his career to please her, even when it went against her orders—who had been at her side while she was in a coma—it meant something. Too many people had asked her that same question over the last week it began to lose meaning. So many wanted nothing more than a short, positive reply to assure them that, through her well being, everything was running smoothly. She carried the burden of so many people's hopes on her shoulders, she didn't think it was her place to say how she really felt. But she did not doubt Nichol's sincerity. It was a refreshing change to have someone to talk to who wanted to take some of that weight off: who would actually listen. It wasn't like him to ask out of courtesy.

"Well," she said, "I am worried about Mariemaia."

"She's Treize's daughter, isn't she?"

Une nodded. "I don't suppose you heard she was shot?" Nichol shook his head. "By her grandfather, no less. Can you believe that? I can't begin to imagine how that must feel. The one person she thought she could trust. . . ." She sighed. "She's doing pretty well now—talking and even making jokes. It was pretty serious for a while, but the doctors say she'll make a full recovery. I don't know, though. Physically maybe, but she's just a child." She closed her eyes and massaged a temple, suddenly feeling the stress of the last few days she had successfully numbed herself to fall like a lead weight. "Everything has been happening so fast lately. There's paperwork to sign and clean up to oversee and press conferences—I hardly have any time to see her. And it's killing me. This is the hardest thing she's ever had to face, and someone should be there with her. She shouldn't—" She searched for the right words but they escaped her. "I should be with her," she said with a frustrated shake of her head, "but I can't escape my responsibilities. Do you think she will understand that?"

"I'm sure she does: she's a very smart girl. Hey, I could go visit her for you," Nichol offered. "I know she doesn't know me, but—I could keep her entertained. I'm pretty good with kids." Une laughed, making Nichol smile. "What?" he chuckled; "I am. You don't believe me."

"No, I do, I do," she said, "I just have a hard time seeing it. But if you're serious . . ." She thought about it, and nodded to herself. "It would be good for her to have some company."

"And what's going to happen to her?" he said, raising the mug to his lips. "After she's released, I mean."

"I don't know," said Une with a tired sigh. "She doesn't have any family left—"

"What about that Barton kid? Trowa Barton?"

"Oh, no. He's not related. It's not his real name." She shook her head. "And I worry about how she might take being adopted by strangers. I don't think it would be fair to her with all she's had to deal with lately. I thought . . ." She chuckled shyly. The idea was still new to her, and with everything moving as fast as it was, the reality of such an idea seemed quite sudden. If she spilled now, she couldn't just take it back later because it was too overwhelming. Nor did she think she could bear it with dignity if he thought it was a terrible idea. She had to feel somewhat in awe of Nichol's ability to draw all her worries out of her, though. She already felt lighter than in all the last couple of weeks, having someone so completely receptive to bounce ideas off. Even Noin, trusty confidante that she was, had been too busy to be bothered with someone else's troubles. "I've been thinking," she said slowly, a question clearly marked in the furrow of her brow, "that maybe I should take care of her."

"You should," he said, not even needing to think about it. "I bet you'd make a great mother." He noticed her startled, awkward expression and amended jokingly: "She wouldn't misbehave, at least."

Une blushed. He would know something about that, she thought with a smile. "I'm too young to be a mother—but I could at least be a big sister she can trust. I feel I owe it to her.

"I owe it to Treize."

"I think it's what Treize would want," he said somberly. He looked out the window, thick brows slightly furrowed in thought. And in that moment she was suddenly struck by his resemblance to Treize. It wasn't that they shared any similar features, aside from the brushed-back hairstyle. He had the same far-off look she remembered on Treize. There was a difference in the way he composed himself not altogether like the hotheaded young man she threw in the brig a year and a half ago. He seemed more at peace. However, it was the man sitting across from her now who was genuine, not that hotheaded young man from the past.

Nichol looked down at the mug as he set it down in front of him. The dull ring it made when it touched the table startled Une from her thoughts.

"I wanted to apologize."

"Why—whatever for?"

"My behavior," he said, looking up and meeting her eyes. "You might not think much of it, but I've been wanting to get it off my chest for a while now. When I look back at my part in the war, I have—regrets. There were some irresponsible decisions I made because I was being an idiot and not thinking. No, that's not true—I was thinking; that's part of the problem. I put my pride before my duty."

"And I put you in the brig for it."

"And with good reason!" he said, gesturing to her. "I should thank you for it. It gave me the time to think about what I stood for." He forced a laugh and looked away, adding: "To tell the truth, I'm a little embarrassed by it all. I was so immature."

"Believe me," Une said, "if I could remember half of it, I still wouldn't care." She had her own demons from that time to be embarrassed about. An identity problem, a conflict of goals—Nichol had never mentioned anything of it, but she did clearly remember him wanting to protect her, from Trowa as well as from herself. She vaguely wondered if he blamed himself for her injury, if that was the reason for his visit, but decided not to dwell on it. It was none of her business one way or another. "We've all changed," she continued. "I was a fool too, Nichol." And before he could interject: "We were all fools. They say war brings out the worst in people. I don't know. Dedication to a cause isn't a bad thing, but in times of trouble what we think is important gets twisted around. I like to think it brings out the best, just in all the wrong ways."

"It brings out stupidity, too."

She laughed, causing him to crack a smile. "Yes," she said, "it does that too."

He crossed his arms over the table again, leaning over them as he digested her words. "Seriously, though, that's a good thought to keep in mind. I wish I had your way with words." He raised the mug to his lips. She could see the uneasiness in the way he stared without focusing on anything, and knew it took a lot of courage to express such old, heavy feelings. She wanted to pry it from him so that he could feel the relief she felt after talking about Mariemaia; but there was a nervous knot in her gut as she realized how little she really knew Nichol, even though in many ways he reminded her so much of herself.

"I don't want you to think I came here to ask for forgiveness," he finally managed to say. "I know I said I wanted to apologize, but I don't think any soldier honestly believes he deserves to be forgiven. I just came to see about a second chance. It sounds selfish, I know, but mostly I came down here to repay you. You helped me out, and now it's my turn. I want you to know who I really am. I—" He lowered his voice self-consciously. "I know it's not my place to ask, but—do you think we could just start over from scratch?"

He held her gaze, as though he would find the clues to the answer in her eyes. It wasn't a difficult question—it wasn't a difficult answer. She didn't know why she didn't just say yes. It wasn't so much him. She felt the tug-of-war pulling her both ways, between holding onto her past and letting it go. To let bygones be bygones, or to be with a person from her past—who constantly reminded her of her past. She couldn't choose them both, but that was what Nichol was asking her to do. And either way, she suddenly found herself not wanting to let him go. Outside the snow drifted lazily to the ground, so sluggish to make it seem that time had slowed down to a snail's pace, waiting for her. The gray of the early morning brightened just a little bit, throwing a glare on the polished tabletop.

Then she remembered the car waiting outside—the two cups of coffee in front of her. "I'm sorry, I forgot I really have to leave," she said, standing slowly. She cursed her lack of tact as she did so, especially when she detected the faintest look of disappointment on Nichol's face. She hadn't even answered his question.

She took a breath, let it out in a quick sigh, and turned to him. "Nichol," she said with deliberation, "I'd really like to continue our conversation. Would you like to go out for dinner sometime? On me."

The surprise on his face mirrored her own. "You mean—like a date?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't have to be. I just thought it would give us a chance to relax and catch up on things."

"Sounds good." He positively beamed. She thought she detected relief as well—although, it could have been just her. He reached for his coat, looking for the pockets, saying something about giving her the number for the hotel where he was staying.

She stopped him with the papery flick of a business card. "One of the perks of an office job," she said. "Give me a call and I'll see what I can work out." She picked up the coffees and newspaper, ready to hurry to the door; but stopped herself before she had taken two steps from his table. It wasn't a business meeting she had asked him to; she couldn't leave so inappropriately. Turning back, she added: "It was wonderful running into you, Nichol. Really wonderful."

"Finally," said Noin when the car door opened. She was about to say something about wasting gas, or draw attention to the fact that they were going to be late, but Une had an uncharacteristic contented look on her face. She was not a morning person. "What took so long?"

"I just ran into an old acquaintance," Une said as she handed Noin her double-tall, soy latte. She shrugged nonchalantly. "That's all."

"'That's all'?" It sounded like anything but. Une looked positively glowing, and not from the cold. Noin knew that look. She'd been waiting for it even. How many times had she pestered her boss and good friend about getting out and meeting other people, to get her mind off work and Treize every once in a while. She respected Une's feelings for the man however much she wished her to be happy; but certainly all work and no play was unhealthy. Seeing her friend like this made Noin bounce in the seat as she turned to face Une. "You have a date, don't you?" she pried.

Une gave her a quizzical look. "No! Well, not necessarily. We're just going out for dinner—as friends." But from the triumphant look on her face, Noin wasn't buying it completely. Friends they might be, but she still looked smitten.

"So who is he? Do I know him? Don't tell me it's that greasy guy from the MOII Christmas party—"

"Of course not," said Une as she rolled her eyes. When she saw Noin waiting for an answer she added, "And I'm not going to tell you."

"Oh, come on."

"No." Noin had to laugh. They sounded like schoolgirls over the latest crush. And she didn't want to ruin the good mood that seemed to be contagious; those were rare that week. It did cross her mind that maybe Une was unsure as to what Noin might think if she revealed his name, which made her wonder even more, mentally going through a list of what charming weirdoes she might know. Then Une added with a shy, distant grin: "He'll probably come by later anyway. He wants to help me out. —Now let's get going! We're going to be late for work."


End file.
